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Dennis sits on the floor long after the fire dies, staring at blackened bamboo beams. The workers have gone home. Police have cleared out, sealing the site for investigation. His clothes reek of smoke, throat raw from breathing it for hours.

His phone hasn't stopped ringing. His father. Mother. Investors. Jason. Unknown numbers.

Everyone but Chris.

Dennis can't answer any of them. Can't process anything beyond the weight in his chest, the acid in his stomach, the crushing anxiety.

The explosion replays in his mind—what if someone had been under there? What if they shut down the project permanently? What if this proves his father right—that Dennis isn’t cut for this, too careless, too naive, too inexperienced.

Too ready to fall into bed with the enemy , a voice whispers in his mind.

Maybe this is his punishment. Maybe he deserves to sit here and let it swallow him whole.

The sun is setting when a pair of shiny leather shoes appear in his peripheral vision.

"My goodness..."

He looks up to find Mr. Lancaster’s striking profile against the dying light, horror etched across his features as he surveys the destruction.

"Mr. Lancaster? What are you doing here?"

Mr. Lancaster turns, genuine concern softening his face. "I rushed here as soon as I heard."

He's the first person who's actually come to find Dennis.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You didn't have to. Besides, they've shut the site down."

They fall silent. Mr. Lancaster studies the wreckage while Dennis watches ash stamp patterns on concrete.

"I never thought he would go this far..." Mr. Lancaster murmurs, almost to himself. "I thought he was past this… kind of thing."

Something in his tone makes Dennis look up. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, forgive me." Mr. Lancaster runs a hand through his silver hair, his tailored suit crumpling as he paces. "I just... I've seen this before."

Dennis pushes to his feet, brushing dust from his track pants. "Mr. Lancaster?" His throat tightens. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Lancaster's face crumples with what looks like embarrassment. "I am so ashamed, Mr. Kim. This..." He breaks off, shaking his head.

"This what?"

"It's my son." Mr. Lancaster's voice drops. "This is his signature move. Seattle wasn't his first time, but I thought..." He studies Dennis's face intently. "Please tell me you're not emotionally involved with him."

Dennis's mouth goes dry. The blood drains from his face.

"You are." Mr. Lancaster says quietly. "My son, Christopher Lancaster—or 'Just Chris' as he calls himself now. He hasn't used our name since I tried to intervene last time. For his own good."

"What are you talking about?" Dennis's voice comes out thin.

"He has a pattern. Gets close to people in positions of influence, usually heirs of industry leaders. Makes them fall in love with him. Then systematically destroys everything they care about until they're dependent on him." Mr. Lancaster's voice carries years of pain. "It's part of his... condition. He refuses to acknowledge he needs help."

Dennis's mind spins. Chris's mysterious absences. The city hall woman. His constant anxiety. The phone calls.

"In Seattle, he nearly ruined a prominent developer's son. I managed to intervene in time, told the young man everything. Had to buy out his shares to contain the damage." Mr. Lancaster pulls out his phone. "You can speak to him yourself if you don't believe me. I have his contact information."

"No—" The word catches in Dennis's throat.

“Never with another man… never been with a man before you.”

How could it be?

"Ever since his mother died, he’s blamed me. He's been... fixated on destroying father figures, their companies, their legacies. I thought therapy had helped, but—" Mr. Lancaster stops himself. "I'm so sorry. You're not to blame. You're exactly the type he targets—talented, trusting, with something to destroy."

"Face it princess, you need me. Your whole project needs me. Without my fixes, your sustainable dream would collapse faster than your daddy's faith in your abilities."

It can’t be.

"Stop talking." Dennis thinks he might puke. “P—please.”

Mr. Lancaster sighs, then nods. "I know this isn't the right time." He pulls out a business card. "But my offer to help stands. Call me if you need anything."

He squeezes Dennis's shoulder before walking away.

“Could fuck my baby princess stupid every day until you're so spoiled you forget anyone else exists. Until you're ruined for anyone but me."

Can it?

Dennis's phone shows unread messages from Chris. He deletes them without looking.

Somehow he makes it home. As he fumbles with the door, another message preview appears:

Please Dennis, let me explain...

He deletes the entire chat. When his apartment door closes behind him, his legs give out. The betrayal cuts deeper than the exhaustion, than the stress, than watching his dreams burn.

It’s over. Everything’s gone.

Dennis’s heart splinters. Now he knows he truly has nothing left.